Baden was full. The supreme12 empires of demi-monde sent their sovereigns, diamond-crowned and resistless, to outshine all other principalities and powers, while in breadth of marvelous skirts, in costliness13 of cobweb laces, in unapproachability of Indian shawls and gold embroideries14, and mad fantasies and Cleopatra extravagances, and jewels fit for a Maharajah, the Zu–Zu was distanced by none.
Among the kings and heroes and celebrities15 who gathered under the pleasant shadow of the pine-crowned hills, there was not one in his way greater than the steeple-chaser, Forest King — certes, there was not one half so honest.
The Guards’ Crack was entered for the Prix de Dames16, the sole representative of England. There were two or three good things out of French stables — specially17 a killing18 little boy, L’Etoile — and there was an Irish sorrel, the property of an Austrian of rank, of which fair things were whispered; but it was scarcely possible that anything could stand against the King and that wonderful stride of his which spread-eagled his field like magic, and his countrymen were well content to leave their honor and their old renown19 to “Beauty” and his six-year-old.
Beauty himself, with a characteristic philosophy, had a sort of conviction that the German race would set everything square. He stood either to make a very good thing on it or to be very heavily bit. There could be no medium. He never hedged in his life; and as it was almost a practical impossibility that anything the foreign stables could get together would even be able to land within half a dozen lengths of the King. Cecil, always willing to console himself, and invariably too careless to take the chance of adverse20 accident into account, had come to Baden, and was amusing himself there dropping a Friedrich d’Or on the rouge21, flirting22 in the shady alleys23 of the Lichtenthal, waltzing Lady Guenevere down the ballroom24, playing ecarte with some Serene25 Highness, supping with the Zu–Zu and her set, and occupying rooms that a Russian Prince had had before him, with all the serenity26 of a millionaire, as far as memory of money went; with much more than the serenity in other matters of most millionaires, who, finding themselves uncommonly27 ill at ease in the pot-pourri of monarchs28 and ministers, of beau-monde and demi-monde, would have given half their newly turned thousands to get rid of the odor of Capel Court and the Bourse, and to attain30 the calm, negligent31 assurance, the easy, tranquil insolence32, the nonchalance33 with Princes, and the supremacy34 among the Free Lances, which they saw and coveted35 in the indolent Guardsman.
Bertie amused himself. He might be within a day of his ruin, but that was no reason why he should not sip37 his iced sherbet and laugh with a pretty French actress to-night. His epicurean formulary was the same as old Herrick’s, and he would have paraphrased38 this poet’s famous quatrain into
Drink a pure claret while you may,
Your “stiff” is still a-flying;
And he who dines so well today
To-morrow may be lying,
Pounced39 down upon by Jews tout40 net,
Or outlawed41 in a French guinguette!
Bertie was a great believer — if the words are not too sonorous42 and too earnest to be applied43 to his very inconsequent views upon any and everything — in the philosophy of happy accident. Far as it was in him to have a conviction at all — which was a thorough-going, serious sort of thing not by any means his “form,”— he had a conviction that the doctrine44 of “Eat, drink, and enjoy, for tomorrow we die” was a universal panacea45. He was reckless to the uttermost stretch of recklessness, all serene and quiet though his pococurantism and his daily manner were; and while subdued46 to the undeviating monotone and languor47 of his peculiar48 set in all his temper and habits, the natural dare-devil in him took out its inborn49 instincts in a wildly careless and gamester-like imprudence with that most touchy50 tempered and inconsistent of all coquettes — Fortune.
Things, he thought, could not well be worse with him than they were now. So he piled all on one coup52, and stood to be sunk or saved by the Prix de Dames. Meanwhile, all the same, he murmured Mussetism to the Guenevere under the ruins of the Alte Schloss, lost or won a rouleau at the roulette-wheel, gave a banknote to the famous Isabel for a tea-rose, drove the Zu–Zu four in hand to see the Flat races, took his guinea tickets for the Concerts, dined with Princes, lounged arm-inarm with Grand Dukes, gave an Emperor a hint as to the best cigars, and charmed a Monarch29 by unfolding the secret of the aroma53 of a Guards’ Punch, sacred to the Household.
Bertie who believed in bivalves but not in heroics, thought it best to take the oysters54 first and eschew55 the despair entirely56.
He had one unchangeable quality — insouciance57; and he had, moreover, one unchangeable faith — the King. Lady Guenevere had reached home unnoticed after the accident of their moonlight stag-hunt. His brother, meeting him a day or two after their interview, had nodded affirmatively, though sulkily, in answer to his inquiries58, and had murmured that it was “all square now.” The Jews and the tradesmen had let him leave for Baden without more serious measures than a menace, more or less insolently59 worded. In the same fashion he trusted that the King’s running at the Bad, with the moneys he had on it, would set all things right for a little while; when, if his family interest, which was great, would get him his step in the First Life, he thought, desperate as things were, they might come round again smoothly60, without a notorious crash.
“You are sure the King will ‘stay,’ Bertie?” asked Lady Guenevere, who had some hundreds in gloves (and even under the rose “sported a pony” or so more seriously) on the event.
“Certain! But if he don’t I promise you as pretty a tableau61 as your Asnieres one; for your sake, I’ll make the finish as picturesque62 as possible. Wouldn’t it be well to give me a lock of hair in readiness?”
Her ladyship laughed and shook her head; if a man killed himself, she did not desire that her gracious name should be entangled63 with the folly64.
“No; I don’t do those things,” she said, with captivating waywardness. “Besides, though the Oos looks cool and pleasant, I greatly doubt that under any pressure you would trouble it; suicides are too pronounced for your style, Bertie.”
“At all events, a little morphia in one’s own rooms would be quieter, and better taste,” said Cecil, while he caught himself listlessly wondering, as he had wondered at Richmond, if this badinage65 were to turn into serious fact — how much would she care.
“May your sins be forgiven you!” cried Chesterfield, the apostle of training, as he and the Seraph66 came up to the table where Cecil and Cos Wentworth were breakfasting in the garden of the Stephanien on the race-day itself. “Liqueurs, truffles, and every devilment under the sun? — cold beef, and nothing to drink, Beauty, if you’ve any conscience left!”
“Never had a grain, dear boy, since I can remember,” murmured Bertie apologetically. “You took all the rawness off me at Eton.”
“And you’ve been taking coffee in bed, I’ll swear!” pursued the cross-examiner.
“What if he have? Beauty’s condition can’t be upset by a little mocha, nor mine either,” said his universal defender67; and the Seraph shook his splendid limbs with a very pardonable vanity.
“Ruteroth trains; Ruteroth trains awfully,” put in Cos Wentworth, looking up out of a great silver flagon of Badminton, with which he was ending his breakfast; and referring to that Austrian who was to ride the Paris favorite. “Remember him at La Marche last year, and the racing68 at Vincennes — didn’t take a thing that could make flesh — muscles like iron, you know — never touched a soda69 even ——”
“I’ve trained, too,” said Bertie submissively; “look how I’ve been waltzing! There isn’t harder work than that for any fellow. A deuxtemps with the Duchess takes it out of you like any spin over the flat.”
His censurers laughed, but did not give in their point.
“You’ve run shocking risks, Beauty,” said Chesterfield; “the King’s in fine running-form; don’t say he isn’t; but you’ve said scores of times what a deal of riding he takes. Now, can you tell us yourself that you’re in as hard condition as you were when you won the Military, eh?”
Cecil shook his head with a sigh.
“I don’t think I am; I’ve had things to try me, you see. There was that Verschoyle’s proposal. I did absolutely think at one time she’d marry me before I could protest against it! Then there was that shock to one’s whole nervous system, when that indigo70 man, who took Lady Laura’s house, asked us to dinner, and actually thought we should go! — and there was a scene, you know, of all earthly horrors, when Mrs. Gervase was so near eloping with me, and Gervase cut up rough, instead of pitying me; and then the field-days were so many, and so late into the season; and I exhausted71 myself so at the Belvoir theatricals72 at Easter; and I toiled73 so atrociously playing ‘Almaviva’ at your place, Seraph — a private opera’s galley74 slave’s work! — and, altogether, I’ve had a good many things to pull me down since the winter,” concluded Bertie, with a plaintive75 self-condolence over his truffles.
The rest of his condemning76 judges laughed, and passed the plea of sympathy; the Coldstreamer alone remained censorious and untouched.
“Pull you down! You’ll never pull off the race if you sit drinking liqueurs all the morning!” growled78 that censor77. “Look at that!”
Bertie glanced at the London telegram tossed across to him, sent from a private and confidential79 agent.
“Betting here — two to one on L’Etoile; Irish Roan offered and taken freely. Slight decline in closing prices for the King; getting on French bay rather heavily at midnight. Fancy there’s a commission out against the King. Looks suspicious.” Cecil shrugged80 his shoulders and raised his eyebrows81 a little.
“All the better for us. Take all they’ll lay against me. It’s as good as our having a ‘Commission out’; and if any cads get one against us it can’t mean mischief82, as it would with professional jocks.”
“Are you so sure of yourself, Beauty?”
Beauty shook his head repudiatingly.
“Never am sure of anything, much less of myself. I’m a chameleon83, a perfect chameleon!”
“Are you so sure of the King, then?”
“My dear fellow, no! I ask you in reason, how can I be sure of what isn’t proved? I’m like that country fellow the old story tells of; he believed in fifteen shillings because he’d once had it in his hand; others, he’d heard, believed in a pound; but, for his part, he didn’t, because he’d never seen it. Now that was a man who’d never commit himself; he might had had the Exchequer84! I’m the same; I believe the King can win at a good many things because I’ve seen him do ’em; but I can’t possibly tell whether he can get this, because I’ve never ridden him for it. I shall be able to tell you at three o’clock — but that you don’t care for ——”
And Bertie, exhausted with making such a lengthened85 exposition — the speeches he preferred were monosyllabic — completed his sins against training with a long draught86 of claret-cup.
“Then what the devil do you mean by telling us to pile our pots on you?” asked the outraged87 Coldstreamer, with natural wrath88.
“Faith is a beautiful sight!” said Bertie, with solemnity.
“Offered on the altar of the Jews!” laughed the Seraph, as he turned him away from the breakfast table by the shoulders. “Thanks, Beauty; I’ve ‘four figures’ on you, and you’ll be good enough to win them for me. Let’s have a look at the King. They are just going to walk him over.”
Cecil complied; while he lounged away with the others to the stables, with a face of the most calm, gentle, weary indifference89 in the world, the thought crossed him for a second of how very near he was to the wind. The figures in his betting-book were to the tune51 of several thousands, one way or another. If he won this morning it would be all right, of course; if he lost — even Beauty, odd mixture of devil-may-care and languor though he was, felt his lips grow, for the moment, hot and cold by turns as he thought of that possible contingency90.
The King looked in splendid condition; he knew well enough what was up again, knew what was meant by that extra sedulous91 dressing-down, that setting muzzle92 that had been buckled93 on him some nights previous, the limitation put to his drink, the careful trial spins in the gray of the mornings, the conclusive94 examination of his plates by a skillful hand; he knew what was required of him, and a horse in nobler condition never stepped out in body clothing, as he was ridden slowly down on to the plains of Iffesheim. The Austrian Dragoon, a Count and a Chamberlain likewise, who was to ride his only possible rival, the French horse L’Etoile, pulled his tawny95 silken mustaches as he saw the great English hero come up the course, and muttered to himself, “L’affaire est finie.” L’Etoile was a brilliant enough bay in his fashion, but Count Ruteroth knew the measure of his pace and powers too thoroughly96 to expect him to live against the strides of the Guards’ gray.
“My beauty, won’t you cut those German fellows down!” muttered Rake, the enthusiast97, in the saddling inclosure. “As for those fools what go agin you, you’ll put them in a hole, and no mistake. French horse, indeed! Why, you’ll spread-eagle all them Mossoos’ and Meinherrs’ cattle in a brace99 of seconds —”
Rake’s foe100, the head groom101, caught him up savagely102.
“Won’t you never learn decent breeding? When we wins we wins on the quiet, and when we loses we loses as if we liked it; all that braying103, and flaunting104, and boasting is only fit for cads. The ‘oss is in tip-top condition; let him show what he can do over furren ground.”
“Lucky for him, then, that he hasn’t got you across the pigskin; you’d rope him, I believe, as soon as look at him, if it was made worth your while,” retorted Rake, in caustic105 wrath; his science of repartee106 chiefly lay in a successful “plant,” and he was here uncomfortably conscious that his opponent was in the right of the argument, as he started through the throng107 to put his master into the “shell” of the Shire-famous scarlet108 and white.
“Tip-top condition, my boy — tip-top, and no mistake,” murmured Mr. Willon for the edification of those around them as the saddle-girths were buckled on, and the Guards’ Crack stood the cynosure109 of every eye at Iffesheim.
Then, in his capacity as head attendant on the hero, he directed the exercise bridle110 to be taken off, and with his own hands adjusted a new and handsome one, slung111 across his arm.
“’Tis a’most a pity. ’Tis a’most a pity,” thought the worthy112, as he put the curb113 on the King; “but I shouldn’t have been haggravated with that hinsolent soldiering chap. There, my boy! if you’ll win with a painted quid, I’m a Dutchman.”
Forest King champed his bit between his teeth a little; it tasted bitter; he tossed his head and licked it with his tongue impatiently; the taste had got down his throat and he did not like its flavor; he turned his deep, lustrous114 eyes with a gentle patience on the crowd about him, as though asking them what was the matter with him. No one moved his bit; the only person who could have had such authority was busily giving the last polish to his coat with a fine handkerchief — that glossy115 neck which had been so dusted many a time with the cobweb coronet-broidered handkerchiefs of great ladies — and his instincts, glorious as they were, were not wise enough to tell him to kick his head groom down, then and there, with one mortal blow, as his poisoner and betrayer.
The King chafed116 under the taste of that “painted quid”; he felt a nausea117 as he swallowed, and he turned his handsome head with a strange, pathetic astonishment118 in his glance. At that moment a familiar hand stroked his mane, a familiar foot was put into his stirrup, Bertie threw himself into saddle; the lightest weight that ever gentleman-rider rode, despite his six-foot length of limb. The King, at the well-known touch, the well-loved voice, pricked119 his delicate ears, quivered in all his frame with eager excitation, snuffed the air restlessly through his distended120 nostrils121, and felt every vein122 under his satin skin thrill and swell123 with pleasure; he was all impatience124, all power, all longing125, vivid intensity126 of life. If only that nausea would go! He felt a restless sickliness stealing on him that his young and gallant127 strength had never known since he was foaled. But it was not in the King to yield to a little; he flung his head up, champing angrily at the bit, then walked down to the starting-post with his old calm, collected grace; and Cecil, looking at the glossy bow of the neck, and feeling the width of the magnificent ribs128 beneath him, stooped from his saddle a second as he rode out of the inclosure and bent129 to the Seraph.
“Look at him, Rock! The thing’s as good as won.”
The day was very warm and brilliant; all Baden had come down to the race-course; continuous strings130 of carriages, with their four or six horses and postilions, held the line far down over the plains; mob there was none, save of women in matchless toilets, and men with the highest names in the “Almanac de Gotha”; the sun shone cloudlessly on the broad, green plateau of Iffesheim, on the white amphitheater of chalk hills, and on the glittering, silken folds of the flags of England, France, Prussia, and of the Grand Duchy itself, that floated from the summits of the Grand Stand, Pavilion, and Jockey Club.
The ladies, descending131 from the carriages, swept up and down on the green course that was so free from “cads” and “legs”; their magnificent skirts trailing along without the risk of a grain of dust; their costly132 laces side by side with the Austrian uniforms of the military men from Rastadt. The betting was but slight, in odd contrast with the hubbub133 and striking clamor of English betting rings; the only approach to anything like “real business” being transacted134 between the members of the Household and those of the Jockey Clubs. Iffesheim was pure pleasure, like every other item of Baden existence, and all aristocratic, sparkling, rich, amusement-seeking Europe seemed gathered there under the sunny skies, and on everyone’s lips in the titled throng was but one name — Forest King’s. Even the coquettish bouquet-sellers, who remembered the dresses of his own colors which Cecil had given them last year when he had won the Rastadt, would sell nothing except little twin scarlet and white moss98 rosebuds135; of which thousands were gathered and died that morning in honor of the English Guards’ champion.
A slender event usually, the presence of the renowned136 crack of the Household Cavalry137 made the Prix de Dames the most eagerly watched-for entry on the card; and the rest of the field were scarcely noticed as the well-known gold-embroidered jacket came up at the starting-post.
The King saw that blaze of light and color over course and stands that he knew so well by this time; he felt the pressure round him of his foreign rivals as they reared and pulled and fretted138 and passaged; the old longing quivered in all his eager limbs, the old fire wakened in all his dauntless blood; like the charger at sound of the trumpet-call, he lived in his past victories, and was athirst for more. But yet — between him and the sunny morning there seemed a dim, hazy139 screen; on his delicate ear the familiar clangor smote140 with something dulled and strange; there seemed a numbness141 stealing down his frame; he shook his head in an unusual and irritated impatience; he did not know what ailed143 him. The hand he loved so loyally told him the work that was wanted of him; but he felt its guidance dully too, and the dry, hard, hot earth, as he struck it with his hoof144, seemed to sway and heave beneath him; the opiate had stolen into his veins145 and was creeping stealthily and surely to the sagacious brain, and over the clear, bright senses.
The signal for the start was given; the first mad headlong rush broke away with the force of a pent-up torrent146 suddenly loosened; every instinct of race and custom, and of that obedience147 which rendered him flexible as silk to his rider’s will, sent him forward with that stride which made the Guards’ Crack a household word in all the Shires. For a moment he shook himself clear of all the horses, and led off in the old grand sweeping148 canter before the French bay, three lengths in the one single effort.
Then into his eyes a terrible look of anguish149 came; the numb142 and sickly nausea was upon him, his legs trembled, before his sight was a blurred150, whirling mist; all the strength and force and mighty151 life within him felt ebbing152 out, yet he struggled bravely. He strained, he panted, he heard the thundering thud of the first flight gaining nearer and nearer upon him; he felt his rivals closing hotter and harder in on him; he felt the steam of his opponent’s smoking, foam-dashed withers153 burn on his own flanks and shoulders; he felt the maddening pressure of a neck-to-neck struggle; he felt what in all his victorious154 life he had never known — the paralysis155 of defeat.
The glittering throngs156 spreading over the plains gazed at him in the sheer stupor157 of amazement158; they saw that the famous English hero was dead-beat as any used-up knacker.
One second more he strove to wrench159 himself through the throng of the horses, through the headlong crushing press, through — worst foe of all! — the misty160 darkness curtaining his sight! One second more he tried to wrestle161 back the old life into his limbs, the unworn power and freshness into nerve and sinew. Then the darkness fell utterly162; the mighty heart failed; he could do no more — and his rider’s hand slackened and turned him gently backward; his rider’s voice sounded very low and quiet to those who, seeing that every effort was hopeless, surged and clustered round his saddle.
“Something ails163 the King,” said Cecil calmly; “he is fairly knocked off his legs. Some Vet36 must look to him; ridden a yard farther he will fall.”
Words so gently spoken! — yet in the single minute that alone had passed since they had left the Starter’s Chair, a lifetime seemed to have been centered, alike to Forest King and to his owner.
The field swept on with a rush, without the favorite; and the Prix de Dames was won by the French bay L’Etoile.
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收听单词发音
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1
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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7
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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8
rancor
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| n.深仇，积怨 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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10
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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costliness
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| 昂贵的 | |
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embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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15
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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16
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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monarchs
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| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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vet
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| n.兽医，退役军人；vt.检查 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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paraphrased
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| v.释义，意译( paraphrase的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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40
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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41
outlawed
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| 宣布…为不合法（outlaw的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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42
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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43
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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44
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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45
panacea
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| n.万灵药；治百病的灵药 | |
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46
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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48
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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49
inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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50
touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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51
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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52
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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53
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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54
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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55
eschew
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| v.避开，戒绝 | |
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56
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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57
insouciance
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| n.漠不关心 | |
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58
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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59
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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60
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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61
tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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62
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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63
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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65
badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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66
seraph
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| n.六翼天使 | |
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67
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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68
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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69
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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70
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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71
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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72
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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73
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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74
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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75
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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76
condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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77
censor
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| n./vt.审查，审查员；删改 | |
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78
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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79
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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80
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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81
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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82
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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83
chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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84
exchequer
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| n.财政部；国库 | |
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85
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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87
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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88
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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89
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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90
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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91
sedulous
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| adj.勤勉的，努力的 | |
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92
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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93
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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94
conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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95
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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96
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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97
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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98
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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99
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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100
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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101
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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102
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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103
braying
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| v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的现在分词 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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104
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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105
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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106
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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107
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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108
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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109
cynosure
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| n.焦点 | |
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110
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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111
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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112
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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113
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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114
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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115
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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116
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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117
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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118
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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119
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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120
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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122
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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123
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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124
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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125
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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126
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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127
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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128
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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129
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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130
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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131
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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132
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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133
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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134
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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135
rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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136
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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137
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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138
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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139
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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140
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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141
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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142
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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143
ailed
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| v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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144
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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145
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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146
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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147
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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148
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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149
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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150
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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151
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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152
ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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153
withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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154
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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155
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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156
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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157
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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158
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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159
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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160
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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161
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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162
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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163
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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